Price and Reward
by petrelli heiress
Summary: There is always a price for every happy moment. Only sometimes is there a reward, if the price is big enough. Peter/Sylar one-shot.


**Price and Reward**

**Author's Note: Inspired by **_**Glittering Cloud **_**by Imogen Heap and a Doyle scene in **_**Angel**_**. Character death, two really. Well, sort of. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes**

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"You don't have to do this," Peter said softly, tears prickling at the edges of his vision, making the man before him blur, distort. He blinked them away. He didn't want this moment distorted by anything as pathetic as tears.

Sylar smiled. This smile, seductive and deliciously wicked, could never be described as familiar because there was always _something _there, something that could never be expressed in words, only in emotions. "You know there's no other way," he said, his voice as seductive and wicked as it had always been. Was he even scared?

Peter shook his head dumbly. "There's always another way," he whispered. "Always."

It was Sylar's turn to shake his head, gently. He touched Peter's cheek just as gently. "Not this time, Peter." He leaned in and added, his breath a tantalising whisper against Peter's treacherously damp cheek, "You saved me, Peter. And now..." He smiled. "I can save the world."

Before Peter could say another word, possibly making him lose his nerve, Sylar turned, jumping onto the railing and leaping across the almost endless abyss. His fingers grasped the cords holding the glowing orb in place and pulled him up.

He felt the white heat emanating from the orb and had to smile at the memories it conjured up. Bittersweet memories of a far less enjoyable time. At least here he had a purpose, a goal, something right to work towards, even if it ended in his death. At least here he had Peter as more than just a punching bag.

His dark eyes caught sight of the plug. It looked so ordinary there, just above the glowing orb that could eradicate humanity with one burst of its pure white light. A plug, all he had to do to stop it from happening was to pull it apart, turn the power off. It seemed so simple...and yet there was always a price.

He felt the heat burn his skin, his humanity, his life away but ignored it, his hands grabbing and hauling him up, up, closer to the plug. With one swift, final movement he seized the plug and wrenched with every ounce of strength his silently screaming body had left. He screamed, the sound raw, burning, clawing from his throat.

And then he was nothing but dust, floating through the air as the light from the orb decreased in intensity until finally fading.

Peter fell to his knees, his head bent, tears falling fast and freely now. Sobs raked his body. He just wanted it to end, end, _end_.

"Peter?" He felt a hand touch his shoulder but it wasn't the hand he wanted. It would never be the hand he wanted. So he ignored it. He ignored everything the owner of the hand said, even when she said, her tone showing how close to tears she too was, "I'm sorry, Peter."

He knew his heart was broken, that it would never be fixed. Only Sylar could ever fix him, only he knew how.

And so he gave his last breath, the last remnants of his power, to the earth, to the human race. They needed it far more than he did.

***

Peter opens his eyes. He is on a beach. It reminds him of that beach right at the end of _The Shawshank Redemption_, the one Andy is building a boat on. What had he said about the ocean? Oh yes, it has no memory. A warm place with no memory. He smiles.

He turns. He doesn't know why. Everything is so peaceful; how could there be any sound but the waves washing gently against the sand? And yet there is. It is quiet, unobtrusive. But it makes him look nonetheless.

Sylar is standing, watching him those dark, seductive eyes of his, some miles down the beach. He frowns momentarily. Why is he so far away?

"Don't you see, Peter?" he says in that same soft, enticing voice he has fallen in love with time and time again. He does not question the fact that he can hear him, without Sylar having to raise that voice. "I saved the world, and you healed it." He gestures to their surroundings. "This is our reward."

Peter finally finds his voice. "Reward?" The word sounds calm when he is anything but.

Sylar is now standing only a few feet away. Peter can reach out and touch him, hold him, have him. So why doesn't he? He gazes into those dark eyes. "This isn't some sort of illusion, is it?" he asks, wanting, needing it to be real.

Sylar smiles and that is answer enough. They are in each other's arms in seconds, touching, feeling, kissing, breathing in each other.

There is no time here. Only them.

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***sobs in a sort of happy way***

**I spent the morning reading Peter/Sylar fics over in livejournal and cannot be blamed for my sudden morbidity. At least I gave them peace. **

**Review please. **


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